A House Divided
by Bryana
Summary: A full length novel presented chapter by chapter, A House Divided is the story of a family torn apart by the living dead. Interweaving characters and plots from the comics, show, and Telltale game, five family members struggle to survive and reunite as the walking dead ravage their worlds and lives.


**Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead or anything. But I own my original characters, so that rocks.**

**Part 1**

**Chaos**

"**Real life isn't a series of interconnected events occurring one after another, like beads strung on a necklace. Life is actually a series of encounters in which one event may change those that follow in a wholly unpredictable, even devastating, way."**

**Michael Crichton**

**Chapter One**

_Anna. Day 1._

I watched the screen carefully as the man in the white lab coat tightened his lips and gripped the edges of the podium firmly, looking nervously down at the microphone. He didn't look like the typical spokesman; he seemed disoriented and anxious, like he couldn't see the line between what he could say and what he should say. He looked back up at his attentive audience with a somber expression, camera flashes quickly illuminating his face before dimming away.

"_Sir!"_

"_Yes, your question."_

"_Is it true that, without a known cure, the outbreak has been nearly impossible to contain?"_

"_We've already released a statement regarding the research into the virus…"_

"_Sir, are you confirming that it is a viral outbreak?"_

"_I'm sorry, miss, that was a... I didn't mean that. We can neither confirm nor deny any comments about the origins or characteristics of… the infestation yet. We haven't been able to monitor an infected patient long enough to…"_

"_Sir, if the disease is indeed viral, can we assume that…"_

"_It is not viral, Miss. Rather, if it is, we don't know that yet. I misspoke when I said that. The infestation is of unknown origin and we don't quite understand its behavior as of yet. To assume anything about the infestation, when we still know so very little about it, would be… folly. Can we move on to the next question please? Yes, you…"_

"_How long have you been able to monitor patients?"_

"_The longest we've had a patient under observation is twenty-seven minutes."_

"_Twenty seven minutes?!"_

"_Sir, was the patient in question infected? What were their symptoms?"_

"_The patient was indeed infected, their symptoms included deranged behavior, failure to acknowledge verbal communication, physical hostility…"_

"_Were there any conclusive results from studying the behaviors of this patient?"_

"_No… none that I am permitted to release at this time."_

"_Why aren't you permitted to release them?"_

"_Without confirmation and conclusive data, these findings are still questionable. Releasing data that may not be true would only lead to disruption and confusion. We don't want to cause any further chaos and disturbance without certainty of what we're dealing with and potential solutions to the problems…"_

"_There are people being attacked in the streets! We're already in chaos!"_

"_Sir, please calm down. We're aware of the situation and are doing our best to find a cure to this disease as quickly as we can."_

"_Can it be cured?"_

"_We don't know yet."_

"_What _do_ you know?"_

At this, the doctor stopped and let out another nervous breath. My eyes were blankly fixed on the television screen as I stood in the center of the living room with my arms crossed over my chest. I had been standing there for what felt like hours, watching the panic attacks unfold on the news.

"_We know that this disease is highly contagious and those that have been infected need to be isolated in efforts to stop the spread of it and contain it."_

"_Sir, how do you recommend the public protect themselves?"_

"_We recommend isolating yourselves, staying home, washing hands…"_

"_Hand washing? You really think hand washing is going to fix all this? What do you think, we're idiots? Why won't you just tell us what you know?"_

I shook my head at the pathetic press conference. Days had passed in this fashion. Over the last couple of days, I'd heard of a couple of reported cases of this "virus" in Greensboro. News reports would flash a "breaking news" graphic on the screen and the anchor would talk about an unprovoked attack that couldn't be abated by any attempts short of killing the attacker. Reporters started questioning morticians that seemed shell shocked, but unable to say why. As these reports multiplied, I should have known that something bigger was coming. I knew that, for every reported case, at least a dozen go unreported. These were the bread crumbs that should have led us to realize what greater chaos was coming our way. Yet, somehow, we're still all surprised.

"_What about the event in Stillwater? Is that a result of this virus?"_

"_I can't speak to the events in Stillwater, and it is still unclear if the _infestation _had any role in the matter…"_

"_What, so it's completely unrelated?"_

"_That's not what I said. Let's move on…"_

Stillwater was a small town in the middle of nowhere Minnesota. It was the first city to be declared a war zone. Frantic reports from rescued survivors said a group of girl scouts had all been infected while they were away at camp. The camp was a few miles out of town, in the middle of the woods; isolated, remote, supposedly "safe." I could hardly imagine being a mother in that town and seeing a horde of little girls emerging from the woods and terrorizing the masses; it sounded like a nightmare.

Once things started getting worse, cities like L.A. and New York went into lock down. Flights were being grounded. The nation, and the world, was going into a state of defense. CNN reported that countries all over the world were declaring states of emergency and crises: Spain, England, Australia, China, France, really every country that CNN had inquired about.

It was hard to avoid the conspiracy theorists in the midst of all the news reports. Ignorant yokels speculated that the terrorists had figured out biological terrorism and were polluting our water with neurochemicals that were making us crazy. "Don't you get it, they're attacking us from the _inside!_" They'd claim, and I would roll my eyes. I was doubtful of that reasoning; countries like Pakistan, North Korea, and Iran were suffering under the same conditions.

"_You said in your release that there have been no recorded cases of infected people surviving, correct?"_

"… _That is correct."_

"_How is that possible?"_

"_We haven't found a cure yet."_

"_Have you even been trying to treat it?"_

"_Trying, yes, of course, but, regrettably, we've thus far been unsuccessful. There's not much we can do to treat…"_

"_I don't understand…"_

"_You haven't even found a treatment?"_

"_Sir, are you not capable of treating the symptoms? If you're able to treat the symptoms, should you not be able to at least control the rate at which the disease wears down the body?"_

"_You don't understand…"_

"_Then explain!"_

"_The symptoms that accompany infection are quite… devastating. We can treat the symptoms to a point, but without a cure, there's no way to nurse the patients back to health. It's like… trying to eradicate a bug infestation by purchasing fly swatters. We don't know the infestations origin or how it spreads, and we won't know how to stop this infestation until we understand the basics of it."_

"_Is this 'infestation,' so called, comparable to any other disease encountered throughout history?"_

"_Do you mean in terms of symptoms or impact?"_

"_Either."_

"_Obviously, this disease is entirely foreign to us. We've never had to deal with anything quite like this before; if we did, we'd already have a cure for it. This is the black plague of our time. We haven't figured it out yet…"_

"_Are you saying mortality rates will match those of the black plague?"_

"_I didn't say that…"_

"_You just said, I quote, 'this is the black plague of our time…'"_

"_I meant in terms of impact and research, Miss. Just like our predecessors throughout history and specifically those in the 1330s, we don't know enough about what we're dealing with. Similarly to the Bubonic Plague, our patients are dying too fast for us to be able to study them long enough to draw conclusive data from them about the disease. Unfortunately, things are likely to get worse before they get better…"_

"_How much worse?"_

"_It's impossible to know right now. We don't know what we're working with yet…"_

"_How high do you think the mortality rate will climb?"_

"_Miss, I can't speculate as to specific numbers. All I can say is that I want the public to be prepared for things to get worse. I don't want anyone assuming we have everything under control when, frankly, we still have a lot of work to do."_

The names of missing people scrolling across the bottom of the screen caught my attention. Since things started getting worse, hundreds of people went missing every day. It started with a name being mentioned here and there; today, the list continuously ran throughout all the reports. It made my skin crawl to think that the list only contained the names of the people that were called in to the news station that day; hundreds, maybe thousands more names went unannounced every night.

"_How close are you to finding a cure?"_

"_Do you have _anything_ under control?"_

"_Please, we're unsure of how close we are to finding a cure and we are working as hard and as fast as we can."_

"_Is it possible that the disease will spread to unbeatable levels before the CDC has had enough time to create a cure?"_

"_We can speculate worse case scenarios here all day, what's important is that we focus on…"_

As important as this news report was, I couldn't keep myself focused on it. I wasn't thinking about the doctor from the Center for Disease Control or the prodding, anxious questions of the reporters. I was thinking back to the last phone call I'd shared with my daughter, Natalie.

She'd called earlier in the day, just wanting to catch up and talk with me. She had a way of calling at the most inconvenient time and demanding we talk, but she never really had much news of importance that she needed to talk about. She'd call and ask me a simple question, and I'd respond with a quick, nonspecific answer.

"How was your day?" She'd ask.

"Fine," I'd answer. "And how was yours?"

"It was exhausting- but the good kind of exhausting. You know, the kind of tired you get after you have a long but really good and productive day at work? My boss wanted this spreadsheet…" And it was about there that I would tune out. She'd continue to rail on about something I knew and cared very little about. I would feign interest out of politeness and listen just long enough to find a few statements I could affirm or deny with a quick "mhm" or "hmm." By the end of her monologue, she'd find a reason to need to get off the phone and do a quick, "Gotta run! I love you!"

That is what I was stuck on. 'I love you.' She'd learned to build it into her goodbye. Somehow, the rehearsed sounding farewell usually didn't make me feel so touched or appreciated, but at least I knew she said it. I couldn't remember if, when she hung up last, I replied to her 'I love you' with a requiting reminder.

I knew that my anxiety over our most recent farewell was really just masking my fears that something might happen to her, but I wouldn't let my anxieties show. I glanced over at the phone I'd dropped on the chair. Of course I was nervous that D.C. would lockdown; I was kind of surprised it wasn't the first to lockdown. I didn't want my daughter in a war zone. I'd tried to call her earlier when I heard the initial report that New York City and Los Angeles were in lockdown, but the lines were all too busy.

'The lines were all busy;' the thought almost made me laugh. Something like that hadn't happened to me since 9/11. At the time, the kids were all in school and Matthew worked in human resources for a credit card company. We lived in Richmond, Virginia and he had business in D.C. He left early in the morning for the airport, before the first plane hit the tower. When it happened I got nervous, not wanting him to be on a plane. I tried calling him but the lines were down. After a while, the plane crashed into the pentagon. All I knew was that my husband's plane was heading in that direction. I panicked, dialing the same phone number again and again, tears streaming down my face as I got the same recorded message telling me that the call couldn't be made. I remember I was mashing my fingers against the keys, barely able to see the numbers anymore through my teary eyes, when the front door opened and Matthew quickly stepped into the house, calling my name. I dropped the phone in disbelief and relief.

"I never made it to the airport," He said, running to me before I could even ask what had happened. He'd forgotten some files at the office and decided he couldn't go to his meeting in D.C. without them. He was about to leave when the World Trade Center was hit. Later, we came to find out that his plane wasn't one that had been hijacked, but it all felt the same to me. I thought my husband had died that day.

Yet again, we were apart. He was travelling on business somewhere down in Texas. I was alone to deal with this stress and trauma again but this time, I was stronger. I didn't make futile phone calls and cry at the TV. I somehow knew that he'd be okay. I was more stressed about my kids; I knew Christian was an anxious wreck, Natalie would be having a panic attack, and Charlie would be stressed about all of us freaking out. I considered calling Natalie again, but I knew that the lines would still be down. I knew attempting to call her again would be pointless, but I knew she would want to hear my voice. Even if I wasn't sure everything would be okay, I wished I could make her believe it. I was barely able to keep myself from pouncing on the phone again and mashing my fingers against the keys, dialing her phone number.

The sound of heavy footsteps landing on the hardwood planks of the first floor snapped my attention back to reality. Christian sauntered into the living room from the back staircase, his face pointed at the television screen to catch the images of frantic reporters badgering the doctor from the Center for Disease Control.

"… _no further comments at this time."_

"_Sir, what is the current death toll?"_

"_Due to the situation we find ourselves in, I have no further comments at this time about the death toll or mortality rates due to this infestation…"_

"_Why won't you release the death toll? We have a right to know!"_

"_I have no comment about the death toll at this time! There's no need to cause a panic or further disturbance at this time!"_

"_How high is it?!"_

"_No comment."_

"_Is it in the thousands?"_

"_No comm…"_

"_Ten-thousands?"_

"_I have nothing to…"_

"_Hundreds of thousands?!"_

"_I have no comment!"_

"_Sir, we're not finished! Get back!"_

The doctor was escorted away from the pressing crowd of reporters and the special report ceased, switching frames back to the local news anchor.

"_That was Dr. Edwin Jenner of the Center for Disease Control located in Atlanta, Georgia, updating the public on the research being done to find the source and thus a cure for this 'infestation,' as he called it…"_

"People are going crazy out there," Christian said with a shake of his head. I nodded. "Guess I'm just glad we don't live in one of those big cities anymore." I nodded reassuringly, but I couldn't help think back to the poor little town of Stillwater, Minnesota. "You okay?" He asked me, snapping me away from my thoughts. I nodded quickly again, trying to shake myself out of the fog I was in and stay attentive to what he was saying.

"Fine," I answered. He knew better than to think that 'fine' actually meant that I was doing fine; he knew that 'fine' was a direct translation of 'not okay.' He nodded, his face unable to hide the concern he felt for me. "Get bored of video games?" I asked, trying to lighten the conversation.

"Yeah, I guess. I just… couldn't help but hear the news from upstairs," He shrugged.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I can turn it down if you want…" I started, taking a short step towards the remote while he waved his hand to stop me.

"No, it's fine. I just heard a lot of people were yelling and stuff and I thought I'd come downstairs and watch it with you," He said, stepping closer to me, crossing his arms seriously over his chest. He was only sixteen, but he towered about a foot over me. He was scrawny and lean; he looked like someone had grabbed hold of his head and feet when he was a child and stretched him out. His blondish hair and bold features hardly resembled my own, but he was a dead-ringer for his dad. His dog, Starbuck, stood obediently at his side, barely taller than his knees. She stared up at him with big brown eyes, eager for attention.

"You didn't have to come down," I replied. "I know how much you hate watching the news. I'm really fine." He hesitated before saying anything in response, glancing somberly down at the floor before looking back up at the television.

"Yeah, well it doesn't really matter if I hate it anymore. I feel like we all need to keep as updated as we can these days," He said. I couldn't argue with that logic. "I know you're worried," He reluctantly spat out. I tried to maintain a stoic appearance. "With dad being gone, Natalie in D.C., and Charlie in Athens… I know it makes you nervous." I hesitated before answering, considering whether or not to debate the true statement. I knew that he'd worry if he knew I was anxious, but I couldn't very well hide it for long.

"That obvious, huh?" I tried to smile as I continued to stare straight ahead at the TV.

"Only kind of," He answered. "I know you are because I am." I forced a small, comforting smile and turned to face him. "Have you heard anything from Charlie?" He asked. I shook my head, trying not to look hopeless.

"No… the phones are all still down. I'm sure Charlie's okay though," I said with a nod. They were good siblings, but best friends. I knew Charlie would be alright; of all my children, Charlie was the most independent.

"I know… I just…I know," He answered me.

"Everything will be fine, I'm sure," I said as confidently as I could. Of course, I didn't believe it with as much conviction as I'd like. I wanted to believe that everything would be fine, but I didn't have the faith to assume that my family would be able to safely snap back together again with all the flights cancelled and cities going into lockdown. I was just as scared as Christian was; maybe more. He nodded in agreement to my optimistic sentiment, but I knew that the same anxieties lay just below his forced, agreeable smile.

"Do you need to go out?" Christian asked aloud. I turned to see that he was looking down at Starbuck, watching her spin in circles and wag her tail at the suggestion. She ran ahead as he led her to the front door and opened it, letting the dog slip out through a thin crack and onto the front porch. He walked back to my side and we refocused on the television as a breaking news graphic flashed up on the screen and the anchor frantically tried to make sense of the fresh news being fed to him through the teleprompter.

"…_just in, we're receiving updates from Washington D.C. The city is officially in a state of lockdown as the situation worsens…"_

I felt my heart sink into my feet and tears try to climb my throat. Natalie…

"_Sources speculate that the events unfolding may be the result of a mass terrorist attack. We're having confirmed reports from the white house, orders for the American public… a recent disease outbreak is causing what seems to be a cannibalistic outbreak. Little is known about the disease, except that it has fatal results. After death, those who are infected seem to… reanimate? Reanimate… can we get confirmation that this information is correct? It is? Are you sure?"_

I shook my head in confusion and disbelief as I stared despairingly at the screen.

"_I um… I mean, um… I… after reanimation, the disease is causing what seems to be a manic outbreak. If you have recently been attacked or bitten by another person, authorities ask that you report to your nearest hospital, government facility, or military outpost immediately. Those who have not been infected are asked to stay in their homes and stay hidden until evacuation orders have been passed down. You can receive your evacuation plan by staying with us and watching channel nine news…"_

"What do we do?" Christian asked me. I shook my head, not knowing how to answer him or if I even could. "Did he say dead people are reanimating? That means… what I think it means, right?" Christian asked, sitting down on the edge of the couch.

"I think so," I answered, sitting down beside him.

"…_been bitten are asked to report to… oh, my God… um… God… the… the vice president is dead…"_

I could feel my hand shaking as I rested it on top of my knee. I tried to control it, but it only began to shake more.

"…_I repeat, the vice president is dead. We have confirmed reports of his death from the White House. He has fallen as a victim to this infection and was unable to be saved by White House medical staff. The president has been transported to an undisclosed, secure location and is, as far as we know, safe. He has declared a nation-wide state of emergency. He is ordering evacuations across the country. We'll update you on your evacuation route as soon as we receive orders…"_

"What should we do?" Christian asked me. I didn't know what to say. Even if I did know what to say, I don't think I would have been able to say it. My mouth hung open in shock.

Suddenly, three loud bangs sounded from outside. My instincts told me to make an excuse for the gunshots; it could have been the hunters that frequented the woods surrounding our house. I wanted to smile at Christian and comfort him, make him think that everything was safe and okay, but I knew better. Those shots weren't from hunters. The shots fired weren't fired in the woods behind our house; they were fired far in front of our house. The fired shots sounded from somewhere in the neighborhood.

"Mom?" Christian asked, the sound of terror quivering in his voice. I snapped back to reality to see him standing in front of the couch, terrified and confused, looking to me for orders of where to go and what to do.

"Lock the doors."


End file.
